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Please, would you proofread my short story

This is the ninth part of my short story "A Flat", please would you proofread it.

When the evening came, Ivan lay down on the dirty mattress, covered himself with an old ragged blanked and hoped to obtain some sleep and peace for his troubled mind. However, as soon as he closed his eyes he heard a manís voice coming from one of the nearby cells. It trembled and pleaded with someone not to beat him. Shortly he could hear swearwords shouted at the man by some loud, hoarse voices, followed by a violent beating.

The man cried, trying to articulate words, but his attackers did not give him a chance and he was yelling with pain while blows landed over him from all sides. They swore at him and called him names and their angry voices made Ivanís body tremble with fear. The poor victim was now squealing and Ivan felt that every blow the man received landed at the same time on his own body.
He knew that at any moment the door of his cell could be opened and the guards would burst inside turning his body into a lifeless form. The beating continued for many minutes before the door of the cell banged shut and the stomping of heavy boots disappeared down the corridor. Ivanís body was still trembling, although he tried to reassure himself that the attackers would not return tonight.

There was a complete silence and he could hear his heart throbbing wildly. He asked himself if he could trust his own senses. Since he was a child, they taught him that his homeland was different from the others, that everything belonged to the people, from factories to the government, but this evening he started to understand that the picture they had tried to imprint on peopleís minds was just another lie.

These guards who beat his fellow prisoner so savagely were like animals. They behaved not unlike Nazis in those documentaries they used to show in schools to teach children of the dangers of the fascism and Nazism.

The truth, which slowly started gnawing on his mind, felt more painful than eventual beating he could be subjected to. This was neither communism nor socialism which Marx or Lenin imagined and dreamed about, but a tyranny which destroyed anyone who stood in its way.
In the morning he was taken to another interrogation. The interrogator was an overweight man in his fifties who had lost most of his hair and whose bald head was gleaming under the lamp. He asked the same questions as his colleague from the previous day: the name of the leader, the names of the members of the organisation, the goals...He clenched his fists also; he pounded on the table and sweated profusely.

But Ivan could not give him any answers despite the threats of torture. He had told the interrogator everything about himself, every single detail about his life and his family since he was a child and could remember, but despite his efforts to be accurate and honest in his story, the man across from him was dissatisfied and demanded the impossible.
When finally the guards took him back to his cell, he was still shaking, expecting them to appear again at the door, this time carrying truncheons, cables or tools of torture. However, the night was calm and he managed to snatch some hours of sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED